Carnivore : Hemlock Grove story
by Malakai-Macabre
Summary: It appears that the world is dying around Emery Cole every time she steps outside. Dodging one accusation to the next and under the violent outburst of her Army veteran sister, Emery hopes the culprit of these grizzly murders stops or at least gets caught. Then she inexplicably watches a boy shed into a wolf. What the hell is going on in HG? RomanxOCxPeterxMiranda
1. Chapter 1

Bruised eyes, mussed hair, and a split lip. Not entirely how Emery had pictured looking just before she was entered into public school. But there she was, third period in and miserable. Her ragged appearance granted her plenty of side glances and double takes. Was it the unkept blonde hair she had tied in a messy bun about her head? Or the dark eyes, set above faint bruises? Perhaps, it was the cut along her upper lip that, when questioned, was answered with a nervous laugh and wave off of her hand? Whatever it was, it had induced a pressure behind her eyes, foretelling an imminent headache and it wasn't even lunch time.

Pressing the tip of her fingers into her temples, Emery ran them in circles as she closed her eyes and warded off the dull ache. The following class was something she looked forward to, only because it was normally quiet and art, to say the least, was definitely her cup of tea. Once the bell rang, and the surrounding students began gathering their belongings, Emery was already out of the door and ambling her way towards the art building. With a hoodie too big for her lanky frame, the sleeves extended passed her arms and gave her the lazy, but comfortable appearance. Albeit, Emery was neither lazy, nor comfortable, it was all she had and besides, not being able to afford new clothes for school wasn't something she would be advertising to every glance that came her way. She didn't need to explain herself to anyone.

Trudging through the doorway into the vast room that was her art class, Emery eyed an empty table near the window. The desk were heavily mounted steel frames, bolted into the floor. Each table catered to two students and were turned at an angle that allowed a spacious middle aisle for walking. She wasn't sure if the actual art portion of the class she enjoyed the most, or the breathing room it granted. Regardless, Emery still found herself looking forward to this hour, even though it was only Wednesday, and her third day of school.

As the students began funneling into the classroom and filling up the seats, Emery pulled up her backpack into her lap and started rummaging through it's contents. All she needed was a pen as she shoved her entire arm into the confines of her black JanSport and jerked it around. Nearly burying her head into the shadows of the backpack as she sought out a writing utensil, she hadn't noticed the figure quietly seat themselves next to her.

"Gotcha," she muttered into her chest as her fingers snagged the cylindrical shape of a pen. Emery lifted her head from the backpack, ready to toss the it onto the ground and prepare for class when she caught sight of the the massive frame seated next to her with broad shoulders and black hair. It was startling for Emery, so much that the backpack slipped from her lap just as her rump caught the smooth edge of the stool. Together, Emery and her JanSport spilled to the floor in a heap. The stool rocked on it's uneven legs before tilting too far and crashing to the tile floor.

The sudden clamor and disorder silenced the hum of chatter across the room as Emery sat up in embarrassment.

A snicker.

A whisper.

Eventually, the hushed giggling took hold as Emery pulled her legs inward so she could begin collecting her scattered school supplies. For whatever reason, she glanced up with a flushed face and burning eyes towards the dark figure who startled her.

_Do not cry_, Emery chided to herself as she bit the inside of her cheek painfully, but as soon as her gaze connected to the kind eyes, now lowering themselves gently to the floor with bandaged hands and a cell that dangled from a lanyard around her neck, Emery felt the warm trails run down the sides of her face.

"Thanks," Emery whispered as their hands worked around one another, gathering the splayed spiral notebooks and pens. She reached out and snagged her backpack, dragging it to her side as they tossed the contents into it carelessly.

The dark haired girl, masking most of her face with a curtain of black hair, offered Emery an apologetic smile until the mess was cleared. They stood in unison, and Emery found herself fighting to notice just how fucking _tall_ this girl actually was.

Emery was only 163 inches, but then again, she was only 17, right? She had time to grow…

Right?

Together, they erected her toppled chair and seated in silence just as the teacher turned towards her book shelf and plucked a red brick from the rows.

What was once Emery's favorite hour, turned to be the worst and most dreaded in under 6 seconds flat. Though, the error of her ways had passed and turned long forgotten, the heat along her cheeks and the fluttering of her heart still stayed.

As the teacher explained the various ways to capture to angle and essence of leaves, Emery tore a small slip of paper out and jotted down an apology before sliding the note towards her left and into the view of the dark-haired girl.

A slow, bandaged hand reached up and took the note, a moment passed as she read Emery's handwriting.

_Forgive my behavior_, it read, _it seems I'm a leper here, I wasn't expecting company at my desk._

The girl tucked it under her spiral and returned her attention towards the teacher once more.

_God, I'm such an asshole, _Emery internally sighed as her face grew hot a second time. She folded her arms together and laid her head down to hide her obvious mortification.

A soft tap along Emery's shoulder and her eyes snapped open. She sprang upright with a gasp, not realizing she had drifted to sleep.

Emery glanced towards the figure next to her, the same dark-haired girl from before. The entire room was emptied out, even the teacher was gone. It was just Emery and her.

"Oh my God," she palmed her forehead and sighed. " I didn't know I fell asleep."

A smile lifted the girls features as she reached for the cell phone draped around her neck. With a stylus Emery hadn't noticed until now, she pecked away at the screen until a disembodied voice spoke in the girl's stead.

"I didn't want to wake you, you obviously needed it." She replied.

Emery gave a faint laugh and said, "I missed the entire class though."

A shrug lifted the girl's broad shoulders before she typed a new message. "An hour about leaves would put anyone to sleep."

This made Emery laugh sincerely. "Well, thanks for not leaving me here...What's your name?"

She typed quickly, "Shelley," the artificial voice answered.

With a lingering smile, Emery felt a flicker of hope. "Shelley," she echoed, "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Emery."


	2. Chapter 2

The evening had struck but Emery still hadn't made it home. Not because of some time consuming errands, or after school tutorials, but because she feared what was awaiting her behind the rickety screen door.

Standing out by the road, next to a decrepit and rusted mailbox, Emery eyed the dark windows and listened to the eery silence that surrounded her mobile home.

Riley was inside, she knew this much. Not because her truck was in the same spot Emery had saw it in this morning, but because Riley never went anywhere, or did anything, Emery did.

Emery was the maid, the cook, the maintenance man when things leaked, smoked, or sparked when they weren't supposed to. Albeit, Emery had made trips to and fro plenty of times, this would be the first week she was gone for more than 6 hours at a time, if that. Eight hours left attended, Riley could be up to anything, and this wasn't a field day or any degree of adventure. Emery knew this by experience.

Riley had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from her time in the Army. Emery couldn't tell at the top of her head how many tours Riley endured in the Middle East, but it was enough to keep in mind that her sister wouldn't always be herself. Emery narrowed her eyes to the subtle movement as the curtains drew back before falling into place again. This caused her heart to thud with trepidation. Riley was waiting for her to come inside, not with hugs or kisses either.

Like a bruised being pressed, Emery's attention centered on the split along her lip, remembering the first time she walked in on an episode she wasn't prepared for. She thought Riley was sleepwalking and catered to that by carefully steering her back to her bedroom, but Riley wasn't sleep, not even. Not to mention, most sleepwalkers don't know martial arts, or have a mean right hook. Emery shouldn't have touched her at all, she thought. She should have left her alone in the bathroom, in full battle dress, rambling off her Soldier's Creed as she pretended to hold her M16 and rock back and forth while underneath an ice cold shower.

Emery knew better now. She turned away from the trailer home as her hands stuffed into her jean's pockets. A park was down a ways, she'd wait there until nightfall. Perhaps, Riley would call it a night or maybe snap out of it before Emery returned. It wasn't like she'd get a wink of sleep, any way. For the meantime, she listened to the scuffing footsteps of her sneakers against the cracking asphalt. Having peeled off her hoodie, she stuffed it in the hook of her elbow and kept her head down until Kilderry Park came into view.

Emery dreaded the sound of approaching cars. The road she traveled along hadn't much of a shoulder to fend from. It was that, or the ditch, so overgrown with thorns and ferns, she feared the thistles and bracken would shred her jeans apart. Already sporting holes around her knobby knees, the fabric held on with but a prayer. It was her last pair, anyway, the champions of her scarce wardrobe. She needed to make them last until she got a job.

As the sun winded down along the horizon, Emery noted the increase in traffic. Some were courteous enough to grant her a little space as they flew passed, other's took it into the opposite lane entirely. She offered a half hearted wave when they did. By this alone, she felt like Hemlock wasn't so bad. Perhaps, the citizens of the industrialized community weren't the ostentatious kind after all.

As Emery smiled inwardly, allowing more trickles of hope to enter her mind, she heard another car on approach. Up ahead, the road curved to the right and disappeared behind a bend of trees, obscuring the oncoming vehicle from Emery's sight. She couldn't anticipate them if she couldn't see them, and by the quickening volume, she knew they were approaching fast. As the car whipped around the curve, blaring the radio at full capacity, Emery hastily hopped into the ditch while maintaining a nonchalant traipse through the underbrush. The sports car, a red convertible with the top down, laid on the horn as they flew passed.

Out of reaction, Emery tossed her arms up and shot the car a puzzled look. A male was driving, but she couldn't gauge their age, or their problem. She wasn't even in the damn way.

It wasn't too much longer until Kilderry park was beneath her feet. Still perturbed from the rudeness along the way, she hadn't taken notice that sun had finally disappeared, though the sky was still a mixture of blue and purple. Emery spotted a bench on the far side that faced the darkening grove and headed for it. Once there, she plopped down and pulled her feet into an Indian style position where she would wait.

It was then that Emery noticed the stars glittering along the indigo colored sky, fending off the twilight and blending it with shades and hues of violet.

Sighing, she leaned back and stretched her arms out against the benches backrest and watched for fleeting lights of falling stars. Pennsylvania's was still battling over seasonal hold. The summer hadn't quite had it's fill, but fall was arriving and fast. Now that the sun had gone below the horizon, it wasn't long until the chill came too. Bumps rose along Emery's arms as she sat back, still staring longingly above and biding more time. She rose her head up and gathered the hoodie next to her. Slipping her arms into the sleeves, she was just about don the fabric when the sound of a distant train emerged. It's horn echoed across the night air, lingering above the trees. Emery paused to listen, for something else was scratching at her awareness.

She strained her ears against the locomotives warning as another interference mingled with it's call, something closer to Emery.

A scream, frantic and laced with heedy panic bled out as the sound of the train's air horn died down.

Emery's eyes sought the source of the sound, reducing the breadth by eyeing across the parks vast lawn near the edge of the grove, until out from it's shadows a figure sprang.

It was a girl at a dead sprint, tossing looks over her shoulder as to whatever chased at her wake. But Emery saw nothing trailing behind and had already rose to her feet in alarm. It was obvious the girl was in a panic. Emery could hear her hyperventilating from across Kilderry. She was sure the night's shadows obscured her, for the girl made no indication that she noticed Emery at all. She fell short of a tiny house that decorated Kilderry park, clambering forth for the safety within. Emery took several retreating steps while maintaining a close observation as the girl disappeared into the shadows of the play house.

For a moment, Emery considered calling out and asking her what she was running from. It wasn't until her attention was diverted back to the edge of the grove from where the girl appeared, that things turned from bad to worse. Something was, indeed, following. When it emerged from the wall of trees, snarling and snapping, and on all four legs, Emery considered, perhaps, she was insane. Maybe PTSD was contagious and she lived in a fantasy world, after all. She could live with this, she thought, as her eyes watched the monster tear across Kilderry park, narrowing in on it's prey with snapping joules she could hear from where she stood.

Before she realized her actions, Emery was facing the road again.

Away from the blood curdling screams, from the gushing sound of blood splattering and teeth gnashing. The hacking and chomping and crunching of bone against bone, Emery ran until her pounding feet and gasping breath was all that she heard. She was roughly five miles from her mobile home.

Collapsing at the same time worn and rusted coated mailbox, Emery's knees sank into the gravel. She ignored the tiny bites of pain as the rocks, sharp along their edges, bore into her bare knees. Still maintaining a forward movement, she dug her hands into the cold driveway and clambered towards her front porch. Pushing off with her hands, she managed to stand and mount the steps in a single stride. Reaching for the door, Emery faltered there, stuck between whatever monster she witnessed at Kilderry park and whatever monster awaited her inside. Another fear rose, a familiar one though. But it wasn't enough to stave off the newly acquired trepidation she had encountered five miles back.

Yanking the door open without another second burned, Emery stepped into the thick darkness and slammed the door behind her, locking every available bolt her fingers could find. She stepped away as soon as the metal slid into place, and felt the cold metallic pressure of an M16 rifle press against her left temple.


	3. Chapter 3

Sounds of thudding, coupled with various volumes of shouting, emitted from the shanty mobile home. From inside, a pair of women, both different in age and mental maturity, fought to maintain advantage. One, the age of 17 with a spirit of 40, was losing this battle.

Emery's back met the poorly fabricated wall with enough force to send her through it and onto the other side. She hadn't braced for it either. The brunt of it expelled her lungs of air like a balloon against a sharp needle as she sank to the floor onto her buttocks.

Riley was screaming about something. Emery had stopped listened the moment she realized it wasn't the barrel of a semi-automatic rifle pressed against her flesh, but a pipe her sister had picked up somewhere, somehow. The immediate danger was over. Now Emery just had to ride the destructive behavior to it's end until Riley tuckered herself out. Along her lips and chin was Emery's own blood. It's source, the right nostril. She could taste it's coppery tang along her tongue and at the back of her throat. She wanted to spit, to hack up the collected mucus and spit it, but that would mean walking away from Riley and that would only prolong her hysterical rage and they were so close to the end.

Emery's right brow was swollen but not bleeding, thankfully. She was sure the pipe had broken the skin when Riley swung it against her. Perhaps not. A tenderness lingered along the same eye, increasing with sensitivity the more she focused on it.

Before her, Riley continued to batter Emery's being, her very existence with cutting remarks and malignant titles. Emery knew better than to listen, but sometimes, a few words would slip through and embed into her mind.

_Mistake._

_Whore._

_Idiot._

_Shitbag._

Emery knew 'shitbag' excessively well. Riley had picked up insults along her militant endeavors and would write Emery during her tours and would refer to other comrades as such. This was, of course, when Riley hadn't been exposed to various degrees of slaughter and fire fights, and still had a meaningful and loving relationship. You know, like most sisters.

During these episodes, when Riley took out her tumultuous self-hate, and traumatic relapses, Emery tried to come to terms with it all. Were these things she heard during her stay within the burning streets of Fallujah? Did her comrades, other sergeants, privates, and superior officers, relay these malevolent slanders and backlashes onto her? Emery knew Riley was one of the few females induced into combat. The American military had traditionally kept women from the front lines. But as the country turned more unorthodox during the years, little by little, more women slipped through the cracks and now stormed the beaches and parachuted out of helicopters alongside their male counterparts.

With these belittling regards and hateful disposition, Emery wouldn't be surprised if it was because Riley had been raped and abused overseas. Fighting a war against both sides would tear even the strongest down. Did Emery condone this? Not at all, but fighting back would only result into a longer episode, or a heavier relapse. Emery had never served in the armed forces, but it didn't mean she wasn't getting flack from those around her who did. If she had been 'boots on the ground' as they referred to deploying to the Middle East, perhaps she could relate better and it wouldn't be so hard to understand. But even then, she'd probably be just as mad as her sister, Riley.

With all this taken into account, Emery remained beneath the onslaught of punches and throes of insult. She brought her arms up and caged the area around her head as soon as the blows went from her torso to her head. Tomorrow was already going to be an interesting day.

* * *

><p>Emery felt sick to her stomach.<p>

The moment she arrived to school, she felt the uncomfortable silence that surrounded the campus. Much was being discussed as she maneuvered her way to first period, a World History class with Mr. McKinley, an old man who loved to slap his knee and yawp , "Jalapena!" when things got exciting. Today though, would call for no such excitement.

"They couldn't find the rest of her body…," she heard in passing.

"Disemboweled and strung across Kilderry park…," another student expressed ghastly while her friends in unison cupped a hand over their gaping mouths.

Emery shuffled her way into the classroom and immediately sat down. She pulled her Jansport into her lap and hid her face. Her lip had been reopened and felt as if it were getting infected while her entire body ached from what Riley had done. Tossing her hood over her head, Emery peered above her folded arms as more students funneled into McKinley's class.

For a fleeting moment, the teacher and Emery made eye contact. He grimaced without realizing it, reminding Emery that it _was_ that obvious. She dipped her head back into the safety of her folded arms and backpack and respired heavily.

Class began, but no one was interested in the Battle of Midway, or that it was the turning point of Naval history. Not even Emery.

She hadn't slept the following night, but how could she? Now, sitting amidst other pupils who only wished to discuss the disappearance and quick macabre discovery of a girl by the name of Brooke Bluebell, Emery couldn't shut her eyes without seeing her panic stricken face, or hear the chomping and crunching sounds that followed.

Her stomach twisted painfully from the climbing anxiety and he leg began to bounce by the ball of her foot.

The rest of the day dragged along. Every passing second, more excruciating and arduous than the last. And of course, art was no longer looked forward too, even though Shelley had quickly taken to Emery like she had hoped.

Emery sat in her traditional spot and stared out into the parking lot from the nearest window and into the tree line just on the other side. She could hear Shelley's heavy footfalls and the sound of her laborious breathing as she entered the classroom. Emery tensed as Shelley drew her chair out from beneath the table, dragging the legs across the tile.

_Ignore me today, Shelly. Please._ Emery mentally willed, pulling her arms tightly around her chest.

But when Emery felt the soft pat along her arm, she couldn't bring herself to pretend that Shelley wasn't there. Reluctantly, Emery turned away from the window and offered the dark-haired giant a forced smile. She watched Shelley's only visible eye dart across her face, noting the bruises and scrapes as she did.

Frantically, Shelley pawed for the cellphone draped around her neck. Emery responded by lifting her own hand and laying it down on the cell just as Shelley produced the stylus.

"I don't want to talk about it," Emery expressed softly.

Shelley made a disconcerting sound like reminded Emery of a distressed kitten. She dropped her bandaged hands into her lap and offered a defeated nod in return.

Today's lesson was not about leaves, but branches and how to maintain the gnarled and harvest feel. Emery knew well about the characteristics of boney and decaying things. She hadn't ever kept a journal, for words were not crude enough to capture the turmoil she bottled up inside, but painting and drawing, however, proved to be fruitful and reflected just how raw and fragmented her life felt, especially after moving in with her older sister, Riley.

Emery watched as Shelley delicately held the brushed between her wrapped fingers. Her strokes of red and orange, dotting leaves across the canvas, were slow and methodical. But when it came to the time to begin her branches, she efforts were quakey and not nearly as controlled.

Emery dipped her brush into a dark brown and reached across Shelley. Together, they watched as Emery drug her brush along the parcel, making subtle edges and crooks to her trees. Before long, she had half the trunk and enough roots to consider it complete. But Emery's efforts weren't so that Shelley didn't have to do any of the work. She took Shelley's brush, dipped it in the same brown paint, and handed it over. Shelley took it while Emery placed her hand over hers, she aided it along, directing when and how to decide on the bends and throes of Shelley's limbs.

When the period was over by the sound of the bell, Shelley and Emery remained seated. When the classroom emptied out, Shelley silently reached for her stylus and phone, and pecked away at the screen.

"What happened to you?" The artificial voice inquired. "Are you alright?"

Emery took a deep breath and looked towards the window again. She couldn't find the words to answer Shelley, not without indulging too much of her hideous personal life, or sounding like a batshit lunatic. How would she even go about mentioning she had seen a glimpse of whatever decided to make a meal out of Brooke Bluebell? She settled it with a shake of her head.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Again, no.

Shelley stood and began to gather her things, she slid the strap upon her shoulder and took a hold of a pen that resided along the table. Using the edge of her canvas, she ripped a piece free and jotted something down. Shelley righted to her full seven foot stature and picked up her phone again.

"Please, write me." She said.

Emery scoffed, "I don't own a computer."

When Shelley walked away, Emery glanced closer to the torn paper.

It wasn't an email, but an physical address.

Perhaps, a safe haven was in the near future.

It was Emery's turn to gather her things and head for lunch. Only a few minutes had passed since the first bell, so the hallways were still congested with students and hummed with more grim talk of Brooke. Just as Emery exited her art class, she froze.

In the midst of churning bodies, she saw him.

Tall and pale with light brown hair slicked back, Emery found she couldn't pull away from his emerald glare. But it wasn't out of desire that she couldn't break the stare, he had a hold of her, anchoring her in position. On opposite ends of the hall, they held each other's gaze. She recognized him immediately as the red sports car she saw last night and questioned how she hadn't noticed him about the campus sooner.

And then she saw it in his eyes, could see the cogs turning as he made the connection between Emery and the dead girl at Kilderry park. With the bruises and scuffs, the scrapes and disheveled appearance, Emery looked the part of a killer.


	4. Chapter 4

"What happened to your face?"

The sudden proximity of the voice startled Emery as she stood near the edge of the sidewalk. She was watching the boy from earlier approach his luxurious red sports car. A Jaguar, she presumed. He knew she was there, and knew she was watching. With a parting scowl, he slumped into his red convertible and revved the engine to life. Emery broke away to glance at the newcomer as the Jaguar disappeared from the lot.

It was a girl Emery assumed around the age of fourteen with thick unruly brown hair and a both arms clutching a notebook to her chest. She exuded enough innocence to both annoy Emery and make her uncomfortable.

Emery scoffed, "Aren't you fucking subtle?" She watched the girl pull the journal closer and glance across the parking lot.

"A lot of people are talking," she added before settling her gaze back onto Emery.

"I bet they are." Emery muttered, stepping down from the sidewalk and onto the parking lot. She started walking away.

"Aren't you wondering what they're saying?" She heard the girl's voice call out.

Emery paused mid stride and glanced back towards the girl. With a defeated flop to her arms, she sighed. "Enlighten me then."

"A senior's saying he saw you at Kilderry Park the night the Penrose girl was murdered."

A heavy dread sank into the pit of Emery's stomach as she watched and listened. Had someone seen her that night? Did they witness her cowardice as the girl cried out for mercy while she turned and ran? She felt her insides twist with anxiety as her throat went dry.

"I have to get home." Emery muttered as she turned back away.

"What does that matter? Were you or weren't you?" The girl replied with a tiny voice, almost too timid for such a challenging statement.

Emery huffed a nervous laugh. She dropped her head back against her shoulders and groaned at the sky. Taking a quick deep breath, she shot the brunette a casually glance. "Look, I don't have time for rumors and "he said, she said" OK? Tell your boyfriend he doesn't know what he saw." Emery turned away for a second time and started walking.

"Why are you so beat up then? Did Brooke do that to you when before you killed her?"

Emery spun around and marched towards the frizzy haired girl at the drop of a dime. She snagged the tiny miscreant by the collar and yanked her down from the sidewalk. The journal fell to the concrete as she stumbled forward into Emery's hold.

Emery held her there without the words to express. An anger she only felt after a beating from Riley emerged like an ugly snake rearing it's head. She even considered punching her, spitting in her face, knocking her to the concrete and clobbering her until she couldn't see from either eye, but this would only expel her from school, leaving her unattended and under the knuckle of Riley.

_This fucking bitch_, Emery thought with clenched teeth. Her fists, filled with the fabric of the student's blouse, shook with white-knuckled fury while the girl stared wide eyed and stunned.

She hadn't a clue what Emery went through to own these scars, theses bruises, and how long it took for her to come to these terms. Emery felt her teeth grinding against each other as her brown eyes stared into the student's face. She had a million things to say, but not a single word could formulate upon her tongue. She shoved the little girl back and stepped away with pursed lips and a flexing jaw.

Emery turned on her heels and proceeded across the parking lot for a third time.

"You're not going to get away with it!" She heard the girl call towards her back

* * *

><p>Emery couldn't think as the soles of her boots sank inches into the mud of the creek's soft bank. She lost track of time during her silent castigation and had merely stumbled upon the meek brook where she decided to take a break. The sun had descended, making the shadow around the grove thick and nearly impenetrable. Though many thoughts flooded her head, there was always the same dread at the back of her mind. Like a scratch that couldn't be satisfied; the inevitable trip back home. If she were lucky, Riley would be passed out drunk or strung out on some new drug Hemlock had produced over night. Which ever happened, she just wanted Riley indisposed and out of the way long enough to get some shut eye. Another thought that lingered was the small girl she met just after school. If any rumor's were smoldering before, they were certainly set ablaze now. Not only would the girl have something to deliver to the entire school body, but any bystanders would have a two cents to tell.<p>

The sound of a nearby screen door slamming shut brought Emery out of her daze. She blinked and glanced around, looking down towards the running creek water that slipped passed just before her toes. This was the opposite direction of her home, she realized. It'd take her at least an hour to make it back on foot. The sun would be gone by the that time. With a sullen sigh, she closed her eyes and listened to the thicket surrounding her. Why couldn't she just have remained home schooled, like previously planned? She wiggled her toes which were falling numb under the steel toe boots and pressing cold weather. The more Emery thought about Riley and her unpredictable behavior, the angrier Emery felt about lashing out on the girl at school. She only wanted justice for her friend, even if they weren't friends, one wouldn't be too keen on allowing a murder to go unnoticed, especially in such a small town. Emery was still a new face to majority of the student body, an outsider.

With a heavy respire, Emery shrugged off the frustration. She didn't want to go home, or to whatever someone would call that shanty place. As she began to pick her feet up, and leave the creek bed, the sound of another screen door slamming shut resonated through the thicket of trees. She paused in her footsteps and listened to the sounds that followed. The creek walls on either side of Emery blocked out her ability to see them, but their voices still carried. If she were to guess, she'd take a gander that one was male, and the other female. A cat's meow sounded within earshot and Emery found herself procrastinating the trip home. The crickets before went still, alongside the rhythm of chirping frogs. The entire forest drew silent.

She moved forward, approaching the muddy walls and peered over the edge. From there, she spotted the voices, but hadn't anticipated a third party who just quietly moved passed the pair.

"Are we safe here?" The tall male inquired to the woman now approaching his side.

Emery narrowed her eyes when she recognized him from high school, the same one who drove the red Jaguar and who almost ran her off the road. The pair was staring ahead which Emery followed with her eyes, settling on another boy with shaggy brown hair and no clothing. His feet were bare as he stood before them.

"What's the G stand for?" Jaguar asked nonchalantly.

"Go suck an egg." The naked teen replied, seeming out of breath.

"Are we safe right here?" Jaguar said to the woman next to him.

"It's fine," said the woman, clutching Jaguar's arm tightly as she stared ahead. "Just watch."

With furrowed brows, Emery tossed a look back and forth at the separated trio, while the naked teen spat in his hands and rubbed the palms together before running his fingers through his messy brown hair.

"Fuck," Jaguar said with a snap of his fingers.

"What?" The woman replied with perplexity, shooting Jaguar a look.

"I forgot my frisbee." He grinned.

Emery's eyes bounced back to the bare footed boy who had rose a middle finger and a wry smile just before a grotesque popping sound emitted from within him.

He lurched forward with an uncomfortable groan, landing onto his hands and knees as his fingers dug into the earth. A rippling coursed from his shoulders down to his spine while the sound of twisting and breaking bones ensued. Emery's stomach flip flopped while she squeezed a hand over her mouth. She couldn't tear her eyes away. The boy fell onto his side, convulsing under some unforeseen agony while his expression twisted until Emery was sure he should be screaming. As if answering her thoughts, a splintering roar sprang from his mouth, resonating across the small back yard and seeping into the grove that surrounded them. It rose the hair on the back of Emery's neck as she watched.

She was stunned as she observed him writhing in pain. What the actual fuck was going on? From what she could tell, he was suffering through some sort of seizure and in debilitating pain, and they were just watching? Were they going to help him at all? She began frantically pawing her pockets for her cell phone.

As she looked for her cellular device, Emery's thoughts wandered back to the night the Penrose girl was slaughtered. Would this be another event she'd run from? Another horrific scene she would flee while an innocent human was maimed and disfigured?

A gurgling moan pulled Emery away from her futile search and she now watched in horror as the boy began to shed his skin.

He reached up towards his face and dug his nails into the flesh, ripping it away like slop. He then moved for his middle section, clawing and shredding his skin from his body. Emery gagged. She turned away and heaved, spilling the contents of her stomach. When she rose again, the majority of the boy was gone, and within his small remnants, stood a large black animal; a wolf. Surrounding him, were his steaming entrails and shreds of flesh that was once appeared to encase the animal.

Emery scrambled back and slipped into the brook behind her. A splash was made as she spilled into the cold creek water. A shock went threw her from the sudden cold and she gasped aloud. When Emery glanced up quickly to eye where she had just stood, the wolf was at the edge, staring down at her. Like a ghost, she hadn't heard him trot through the crunchy fall leaves and now he was suddenly gazing down at her. Fear kicked her heart into sixth gear as a scream bubbled in her chest, clawing it's way up her throat. She did take heed the quickly approaching footfalls of Jaguar and the other woman. The wolf glanced back towards them and darted away, fleeing from Emery and the other witnesses.

She pushed her heels and hands through the slippery creek bed until she was on the other side, just as the pair reached the edge of the elevated creek wall.

"Who the hell is that?" The woman asked with furrowed brows as she stared down at Emery among the mud and muck.

"Fuck," Jaguar expressed disdainly. He appeared just as shocked and awed as Emery, but with a little, _a lot_, less fear than she exhibited. Was he anticipating that teen to turn into a wolf? Was that expected around here? A norm?

Oh God, Emery thought as she remembered his frisbee comment from before.

"What did you see?" Jaguar asked quickly and with enough force to startle Emery, already at a hysterical rate and climbing. Her eyes bounced between Jaguar and the woman.

"I-," Emery began with a trembling voice. Her mouth hung open, trying to form the words, to assure them she hadn't seen a thing, even though she saw a _thing_ come straight out of a teen, she'd seen the _whole thing_ even though she wished she hadn't seen the thing. "I- I didn't-...," Emery stammered.

"No," the woman sighed with palpable frustration. "She saw the whole thing, Roman."

Roman, Emery quickly pinned, glanced towards her with the same frustration. "Well, now what? What do we do with her?"

"Grab her."


	5. Chapter 5

The sun had taken it's leave, abandoning the clear night sky to the moon's bidding. It was a round and fat and brimming with luminous shine. The light from it's glow caught the wisps of Emery's heavy pants as they expelled quickly from her lips. They dissipated just as fast as they were birthed while Emery burst from the treeline. Onto her property, Emery marched towards the porch with heavy footfalls, exhausted and still flooded with adrenaline. She wasn't a runner, had never been, but sometimes Riley would give her no other option than to try her legs at dead sprints, so she had some practice.

"Fuck," Emery huffed breathlessly eyeing the dark trailer. She'd completely forgotten about Riley. She was far too concerned with removing herself from the current position inside the creek bed. The second that woman had ordered Roman to grab her, Emery clambered her way out of the trench and high-tailed it faster than she had ever fled. Somewhere along the way, she outran Roman. Despite his long legs and wide gait, she managed to escape into the grove and make it back home without interference. Whatever waited her inside was nothing compared to the gruesome horrors she encountered within a week apart.

First the mutilation at Kilderry, now this?

_Jesus Christ…_ she thought to herself crossing into the back yard.

"What the fuck is going on in this town," she muttered aloud as she faltered near the bottom steps of her porch. Emery glanced up towards the door and sighed heavily. What could Riley be up to?

"Please," she whispered into the darkness, hoping whatever divine being who could hear her would throw her a damn bone, for once at least. With each mounting steps, she found her heart begin it's routine climb. Having already crept up into the cavity of her throat, she was sure any sudden and hysterical event that transpired thereafter would expel her heart right out and onto the floor. As she mustered the courage to open the door, Emery noticed the longer she waited out in the darkness, the more the chills along her neck and shoulders intensified, as if out in the impenetrable darkness something waited and watched.

Something wasn't right, she thought as she slowly turned towards the black wall of trees behind her.

She couldn't see it, but she could hear it.

A low rumbling, deep and guttural, resonating out from the grove, out from the darkness, and across her back lawn. A growl.

Something was staring at her and it wasn't happy.

* * *

><p>Roman was lying on that couch when the screen door yanked opened wide. The sun's ray penetrated the shadows of the trailer just in time before Peter's frame blocked it's path. He was naked, like Roman last remembered, and appeared disheveled and hungover. With evident stiffness, Peter ambled up the steps and entered quietly, allowing the door to slam shut behind him. Lynda, his tender and amorous mother, halted her current bustle and watched him eye Roman warily. Peter then glanced to and fro between Lynda and Roman, reading the palpable tension like a billboard along the highway.<p>

"What happened?" he asked, shuffling towards the armchair where a quilt awaited him. He knew already. Knew before the opening line that something had gone awry during his change.

Roman glanced at Lynda hoping she'd be the one to deliver the news, thankfully she did.

"We've got a problem." Lynda began from the kitchen counter that overlooked the small living room.

_Shit, yeah we do,_ Roman thought as he watched Peter reach the chair.

Peter plopped down and extended his legs straight out. He groaned while rubbing his temples. "What," he grumbled as he drew the quilt over his groin with a free hand.

It was Roman's turn to deliver. "We weren't the only people who saw you change."

Peter stopped his circles and eyed Roman carefully. "What do you mean?"

Lynda responded, "A girl was hiding in the creek," she stated, "Wandered onto our property last night, I don't know what she was doing here, but she watched the entire thing."

"Shit," Peter hissed. "_What the fuck_ guys?" He glared at his mom and Roman.

"She's the girl that goes to our school, the one I saw walking to Kilderry." Roman interjected before Lynda could respond. "I tried chasing her down, Peter." He pursed his lips and pawed around for his cigarettes, probably crushed during his sleep. "Fucker was fast."

With a sigh, Peter muttered, "Well aside from _that _shit storm, it's not the girl."

Roman sat up from his slouch and listened. "How do you know?"

"A vargulf," he licked his lips. "A wolf will only attack if it's hungry or provoked, a normal one that is."

"English, dammit." Roman spat.

"It's a wolf that's gone insane, doesn't eat what it kills." Peter finally concluded. "It was out there, I felt it." No piss scent, no gender. It just smelled _angry._

"How do you know _she's_ not the vargulf?" Roman pressed.

Peter glanced at him casually. "Did she change when you chased after her?"

"No." He blurted.

"Well then, there you go."


	6. Chapter 6

Emery was strung out across her bed, appearing dead or heavily sedated when a pounding sound came from the front door. She sat up right, immediately disoriented and confused as hell. Again, the beating ensued from the front door, someone was knocking. Bringing the heel of her hands into her eyes, she rubbed away the sleep and tried to understand why the sun was so high and why things didn't feel right?

_BOOM BOOM BOOM!_

"Christ," her voice croaked with the scratches of sleep. Emery stood wearing a large tshirt that surpassed her knees and a mismatching pair of socks. She clambered out of her bed and hurried to the door, slipping as she threw it open and peered down the short hall.

_BOOM BOOM BOOM_!

The knocking seemed perpetual now and where the hell was Riley? she thought. Emery's half asleep shuffling brought her to the door. Though she was disheveled with a mess of bed hair, she still answered the door. She yanked the innermost door open with enough force to pull it from it's hinges. The sun shined into her eyes, harshening her already premeditated glare.

"Hello," a sheriff stood on the other side with a tight smile. "My names Sheriff Sworn. Is your uhhh..," something behind Emery caught his eye and out of reflex, she glanced over her shoulder. Strung along the couch, topless with a skimpy thong lied Riley. An empty bottle of something laid on it's side, abandoned just beneath Riley's dangling hand. "...Parents home?"

Emery sidestepped and pulled the door closer to her shoulder so the sheriff couldn't stare. "I'm the one you want to talk to." She replied, still squinting, still glaring, and still tired.

"Outstanding," Sheriff Sworn, a round man with a tight waist line, produced a memo pad from his trousers pocket and a pen which he clicked ready. "May I get your name?"

"Emery Cole," she responded, watching him work the ballpoint pen against the paper.

"And your address?"

She gave him the address and he gave her a pointed stare before asking her for her age.

When she replied Sheriff Sworn lifted his gaze with a disapproving brow. "Aren't you supposed to be at school, Miss Cole?"

He was right, but he also wasn't her father. "I overslept." she explained casually.

"I don't see that as an excuse to miss school, ma'am." Sheriff Scorn chided.

Emery pulled her head in to give the microwave clock a glance. 8 a.m. She wasn't too terribly late.

"Get dressed," she heard him say. "I'll take you to school."

* * *

><p>Though she tried to reason with him, claiming she could get to school just fine on her own, Scorn wasn't taking the bait. Begrudgingly, she showered and got dressed in under ten.<p>

On the way to school, Emery learned Sheriff Scorn had two daughters, twins, that also attended Hemlock High. They were younger than her, she believed, possibly freshman if she heard him correctly.

"They're a handful," he joked, more to himself than anything. Emery replied with silence, pulling her backpack closer into her lap towards her chest, and continued to stare out of the window.

When the patrol car came to a stop, she flung the door and climbed out as fast as she could. It'd take only a glance to see her crawling from a sheriff's vehicle and after yesterdays ordeal, who knew what they could derive seeing the town's sheriff dropping her off? She slammed the door just as the sheriff opened his mouth to speak and hurriedly crossed under the awning and disappeared into school's corridors.

* * *

><p>It was a break between first and second period, the transitioning time and plenty of students still lingered the halls. Emery adjusted her backpack to her left shoulder and casually ambled towards her second class. As she rounded the corner she paused. Ahead of her was a stagnant cluster of students. All shoulder to shoulder. Half of them were looking down at a figure seated against the wall. The remaining were cackling and exchanged crude remarks on behalf of the student they stood before. As Emery neared, she tried looking above their shoulders to see. No avail. She hunkered low, and peered between the student's legs, and finally got a better view. When she spotted Shelley, seated and curled into a tight ball, Emery quickly began elbowing her way towards the center where she sat.<p>

"Shelley!" Emery called, lowering into a squat. She reached forward and pulled her bandaged hands she used as a shield from the oncoming hurls of insults. "Come on, Shelley. Let's go. Get up!" Emery noted the tear stained cheeks and her flustered face as she obliged, rising to her seven foot stature. Holding her tenderly by the hand, Emery led Shelley away from the clamoring and clucking congestion by shoving the students aside.

"Dyke," a boy sneered obnoxiously.

"Fucking trailer trash," another student giggled with pink and black braces.

Emery ignored them as she steered Shelley away until one little voice rang out.

"Punching bag!"

Emery heard a ringing sound, like a gunshot went off near her ears. Or the time, Riley smack her against the head so hard, she couldn't hear from her right ear for a week. Whatever it was, her body was responding to it like it did when Riley was waiting for her to walk through the front door.

_Punching bag…, punching bag…, punching bag. _His jeering voice was ricocheting around like a pinball, hitting every nerve Emery had kept at bay.

Before Emery's thoughts could catch up to her actions, her fist was clenched tight and reeling _back_ from an already executed blow. It happened faster than even her eyes could register as she clocked the kid square in the nose. His head bucked back and cracked along the lockers that lined the walls of the hallway. Blood sprang forth and he gripped around the source as he cried out. Emery watched him slide to the floor. A breadth of space surrounded her as the witnessing students all took a step back, away from Emery. Her heart was pounding as the adrenaline kicked into gear. Taking a weary step back, Emery found Shelly and grabbed her by the hand a second time. Together, they hurried down the hall, towards the gymnasium

* * *

><p>[AN]: Special thanks to Luna888, NOTagentsofnothing420, and the kind guest. I appreciate the encouraging reviews and also thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

"This is a strange town," he told his mother just before he left for school. "You can feel it in your balls."

She didn't reply, only offered a simpering smile as he headed out the door.

When Peter traversed the crowded halls for second period, he saw the most peculiar sight; the last bit of two boys kissing. He stopped short, contemplating whether he should continue watching or head for class. It was quick but reluctant, marring the boy's face with shame and humility upon contact. Roman was next to the pair, fuming with an intensive anger. At his sides, his hands were balled into white-knuckled fist, watching as one boy forced his mouth upon the other.

_Ahhhh,_ he realized, _Upir doing what he does best._

Peter paused at the entrance and sighed uninterested.

The kissee finally snapped out of his shocked stupor and shoved the kisser back indignantly just as Roman snarled something, prompting the pair and bystanders to scurry away quickly

Peter waited until the hallway emptied out before approaching Roman. As Peter neared, Roman retrieved a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed the blood now dripping from his nostril.

"What happened?" Peter asked, looking towards the retreating group of miscreants.

"Shelly," Roman sniffed, still cleaning himself up. "She was just here but I don't know where she went off to. Those fucking punks were blaming her for the killing last night."

Roman, balling the bloodied cloth up, returned the blotted cloth into his blazer. Peter withdrew a joint from his pocket and handed it over. "Smoke this." he told him and began walking.

Together they meandered towards an exit as Peter fumbled for a light.

"Everyone's scared shitless." Roman muttered as they pushed open the doors that led them outside. "It was another Penrose native. I thought Brooke's case rattled everyone, but it seems this one's really getting to people."

Peter didn't need to ask what Roman was referring to. He knew already, felt it this morning right at the base of his ball sack. Another body was found, a girl and like her predecessor, she was disemboweled and abandoned half-eaten. The artistic signature of their infamous _vargulf_ just getting started.

"Are you sure it wasn't you?" Roman carefully added near the end. They were outside now.

Peter kept walking, lowering his voice and making sure no one was within earshot. "I never go out on an empty stomach," he hissed under his breath. "And also, fuck you."

"Maybe you don't remember doing it." Roman continued as they quickly took the steps down. He watched Peter's undeterred expression. "Maybe you blacked out? I mean why _else_ would you show me your transformation? Maybe you _want_ to be caught."

"Jesus," sighed Peter, looking across the street as an elderly woman steered her dog into a bookstore. He turned right and proceeded down the sidewalk. His fingers finally finding the plastic form of a lighter lodged deep in his front pocket. Roman drew silent, matching Peter's disposition. They walked in stride, but Peter, somewhat, leading the way. They pushed passed the treeline and found a trunk obscured from campus view. Peter sat first, holding out the lighter for Roman as he seated next to him.

Roman struck the ignitor and cupped a hand around the flame. The joint smoldered then began to burn. A deep inhale, and slow release. "Wasn't me." Roman mumbled through holding his breath then handing the joint over. He released, expelling his lungs slowly.

"I know," Peter replied, taking the joint.

Roman tried not to exude the dejection he felt for not falling under suspicion. Peter took a puff.

"So you still think it's the vargulf?" asked Roman.

"I know it is." Peter replied, exhaling the smoke. "I smelled it at Kilderry park. You can tell it's whole life by it's scent. Sex, health, it's fucking needs. Wasn't like anything. Just anger."

Roman watched as Peter passed the joint over.

"What about the girl?" Roman inquired. "The one who saw you change?"

"What about her?" Peter retorted, prompting Roman to shrug.

"I just figured we should probably find her, ask her some questions." Roman suggested.

"Ask her questions?" scoffed Peter, "Like what? _You might have seen me brutally shift into a wolf the other day, but don't worry it's all in your head_, something like that? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Roman's eyes shadowed incredulously, "What else are we to do? She's going to tell someone eventually! You said so yourself I'm the only one who knows besides Lynda. That's not a secret you can keep!"

Peter's leg began to bounce. "Look at it this way," he began solemnly, "If she did happen to tell someone about what she saw, you think Shelley would have been the brunt of last nights event?" He paused there, allowing Roman to consider his words. "People would be lining the streets with fucking pitch forks and torches." He took a deep pull from the joint and held it. "She hasn't told anyone."

"At least, not yet."

* * *

><p><strong>Short, yes, I know, but I didn't want to make the chapter too long. The following it already written up, but I didn't want to bombard you all with three thousand word chapter. That's grueling! RR!<strong>

**Special thanks to wab-sabi1090 and their wonderful reviews. Things will look up soon for our girl Emery...hopefully.**


	8. Chapter 8

"Shelly," Emery suddenly said. She twisted around to look up at the girl. "Want to get out of here?"

The two girls were perched along the bleachers, neither intending to step foot out into the hallway after what they both had experienced. Emery had to go back and grab her backpack, having slung it off when she saw Shelley being ridiculed. When she did, she noticed her phone was ringing incessantly. She checked the caller but it was only Riley. She also had several text messages asking that she come back home, but Emery decided to ignore those as well. Just thinking about what Riley could possible want made her stomach twist with nerves.

"Where would we go?" Shelley inquired, sitting next to Emery with her phone and stylus ready.

Emery place her cell phone on vibrate and tossed it back into her book bag. "I don't know." she murmured, "Just somewhere else. Can we just go to your place?"

Shelley considered this for a moment. The point of the stylus hovering over the face of her cell. Emery watched as Shelley struggled to decide on whether to skip school or just remain there until the final bell. Emery guessed Shelley probably hasn't done a single thing in this life to frown upon. She appeared to be a good girl, quiet and obeying, but also something else, something Emery couldn't put a name to. Emery stared at the colossal girl seated next to her for the first time. She saw the slight scarring, the patches of flesh where hair should be, and a subtle distortion along her face. Emery knew she was freakishly tall, but what was beneath her curtain of hair she used to veil her face?

Emery suddenly lost interest in further investigating. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. What mattered was getting out of school before things went from bad to worse. She was sure the boy ran to the principles and told them what she did to him, showed them even which is more than likely the reason Riley was blowing up her cell. She needed to get out of here.

"Yes," Shelley finally answered, "We can walk. It's not too terribly far."

Emery sighed with relief, "Awesome. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Nearly an hour later, Shelley and Emery arrived. It began to rain midway prompting Emery to remove her jacket and drape it over Shelley's head. She happily received the offer while Emery continued to walk under the deluge of rain. Once they reached Shelley's property, Emery was already drenched and frozen to the bone. Her shoulders began to tremble and ache while her bottom jaw bounced against her teeth as the impressive house came into view.<p>

"Wow," Emery shivered. It was all she could manage as she stared at the ostentatious structure, even calling the massive castle a mansion seemed underestimating it's girth. Shelley smiled beneath the shadows of Emery's jacket before ushering her inside.

The foyer had a winding staircase on the left. A room directly left and one directly right, both adorned antique furnishing and unparalleled decorations. A massive grandfather clock was straight ahead, ticking it's endless lullaby. Shelley brought the jacket down and shook off the rain. She draped it on a coat rack and pulled her phone and stylus out. She pecked at the screen quickly.

"Mother is away, running errands, I presume." the voice said, "I'll draw you a bath and bring you some dry clothes." Emery was then led up to an elevator. Shelley shuffled in beside her, hit a switch, and they began their ascent.

After Emery bathed and dressed in a massive sweater, Shelley went down to grab some food for Emery and herself. Once the elevator door shut, Emery dug her phone out and read the text messages, all thirteen of them.

_Come home_, one read.

_Answer your fucking phone!_ said another.

_Emery, please. The police are here._

Emery quickly scanned through the remaining text messages, all relaying the same pleading request to return to her home. There's no way Emery would come home. She'd dealt with enough for today and it was only 10 a.m. What else would be in store for her if she were to adhere to Riley? Emery scrolled up to the last message, seeking the answer, and stopped short.

_Emery, they found a dead girl behind our house. I need you, I can't deal with all these people. Come home please._

A girl was found dead? Emery sat there motionless, staring passed her cellphone, in a trance. Would it be on the news by now? How many people already knew about it? Who was she? Was it someone Emery knew?

The sheriff! Emery realized.

She'd forgotten entirely about the sheriff, not once questioning why he was knocking at her door. Even after he took her to school this morning he never indulged Emery on his reasons for being at her door and she certainly didn't think to ask. Wouldn't that make her a suspect? Were they looking for her? So many questions! She began to panic.

Emery glanced back down to her phone and read the message over again. She thought about the previous night and suddenly her blood ran cold.

She remembered now the sound that seeped out of the shadowed grove. The way it's gaze pierced her back like pinpricks and rose the hair on ends. She could hear it now, as if she were still frozen on the bottom steps of her porch, staring into the night. _It_ was behind her house, obscured by the thick trees and darkness, watching her.

_It_ had left her a gift.

Emery's phone started vibrating.

She blinked, snapping out of her trance, and punched the green button.

Raising a shaking hand, she pressed the device to her ear and said, "Hello?"

"Miss Emery Cole?" a man's voice responded.

"Yes?"

"This is Sheriff Sworn. We met this morning," he said. Then he sighed heavily and continued, " I need you to come down to the station."


	9. Chapter 9

"It's just part of protocol," the Deputy said, "We'll make it quick as possible, okay?"

Emery could only nod. She was at the department, surrounded by Penrose mourners who believed they had an insight on what happened the night before. But, in all reality, Emery got the feeling they just wanted to appear important and, perhaps, steal a second or two in front of a news camera. The way they applied chapstick, or, in some cases, lip gloss in between sessions with officials around them. All the while, Emery couldn't sit still if her life depended on it. Her leg bounced incessantly as if any moment she'd lose composure and storm out of the building. Emery could never trust a uniform, not matter the shade, pattern, or insignia. She'd learned to feel this way for personal reasons.

As she waited and listened, her mind began to wander back to the creek bed. How she hadn't slipped up and told someone was beyond her. Maybe she'd fabricated the entire thing. Maybe there wasn't a werewolf lurking the shadows of Hemlock Grove. Maybe, like her sister, her mind was deteriorating and in it's corrupted wake it brought images so vile and so morbid. She prayed that was the case. _Oh God, please be the case._

If it wasn't a fantasy, and she was awake in a living nightmare where flesh turned to fur and molars peaked into canines, where students are disemboweled and strewn across state parks, or left abandoned and half devoured behind shanty mobile homes, if all this were true; Emery would evidently go insane. Should she tell someone? If so, who? Shelley? Would Shelley understand? Would the police? Should she tell the police?

_Fuck no_, Emery suddenly chided. _There's no way._

Half the town already knew her sister had PTSD, now the younger one was claiming to see a boy turn into a wolf?

Emery laughed aloud at the notion as she stared at her fidgeting hands. People would think she was fucking crazy. Maybe, she was. Hopefully, she was.

If not, it had to be him. She knew it for certain. Whoever _he_ was was the culprit to the murders of both Penrose girls. Had Emery been more in tuned with the student body she would have caught the whiffs of rumors, but alas, she was not. Still an outcast, still just a punching bag that came to school so everyone got a good look at her cuts and bruises, at the good work of Riley Cole. And since Shelley wasn't much of a talker, and as far as social standings, paralleled with Emery on the popular scale, or lack thereof, it wasn't as if she had heard anything as well. Hell, they were blaming her for the mutilations. Shelley didn't know, not anymore than Emery.

Around her the volume of voices fluctuated. The most she gathered by the hum of chatter was the victim happened to be another student from Penrose. Who? she couldn't quite catch the name.

Suddenly, a figure was standing to Emery's right. She tried not to jump when she glanced up to meet the inviting pale green eyes of a female in slacks and a khaki blazer but failed. Sheriff Sworn was right behind her.

"Miss Cole," Sworn began, "This is Dr. Chasseur. She's here to ask you a few questions."

"Hello," Chasseur chirped with an extended hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Emery stood and carefully returned the handshake. "Nice to meet you too." she managed to say around a subtle gulp.

"Do you mind if we take a walk?" With her thumb jutted out, Chasseur gestured towards a window. She offered a smile.

"No, not at all." said Emery.

The doctor led the way until they were outside. She paused at the entrance, allowing Emery to step through the held door and continue onward. Chasseur didn't waste a moment to conduct business. As soon as the door shut, the investigation began.

"I'm sure you are aware of your ties to this mornings murder. Am I right?" Chasseur stated.

"Yeah, I guess." Emery uttered. "You found a dead girl behind my house, I get it. What about Riley? Did she go through this same 'protocol'?" She made quotation marks with her fingers.

Chasseur shook her head. "Your sister showed no signs of evading the police." She paused, allowing Emery to absorb her words, then she asked, "Why weren't you at school this morning? Sheriff Sworn stated you missed first period. He had to take you himself. When officials arrive, they said you hadn't made it to class yet."

"I overslept," she responded with steady eyes. "I've been sleeping like shit for days now."

Chasseur considered this, "So why weren't you still at school after Sworn dropped you off?"

Emery stuffed her hands into her pockets and shrugged. "Somethings came up. My friend was having some trouble. I came in to help and ended up making it into an even bigger mess. So we left."

"Who is your friend?"

"Why does that matter? Isn't this about the murder behind my house? She hasn't nothing to do with it."

"Is it Shelley Godfrey?"

"I don't know her last name. Perhaps?" Emery shrugged again.

With terse lips and a curt nod, Chasseur inquired some more. "Mind telling me why your tracks were spotted leading up to the crime scene and thereafter?"

The statement hit Emery blindsided, but then again, if what Chasseur claimed were true, it did appear as though Emery was dodging the police. She hadn't known this at the time, wasn't even aware of the carcass behind her house until her sister revealed the information. Everything was looking bad suddenly.

"The night before I took a walk through the woods." said Emery.

"Just a walk? Nothing else?" Chasseur watched with keen, emerald eyes.

"No," Emery snapped. "Nothing else. I walk to school. My sister's truck isn't reliable so I've managed to hoof it most of the time. I took a wrong turn-"

"The woods are pretty tricky, especially at night." Chasseur interjected.

"Yes," Emery said, "They are."

"Emery," Chasseur paused, "Is that alright if I call you Emery?"

She shrugged.

"Emery, is it true your sister suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

Emery lifted her guard. "What does that have anything to do with? You think she might have done something?"

"Not at all," replied Chasseur. "The markings on the body suggest an animal attacked Lisa Willoughby. You wouldn't happen to have a dog would you?"

"No," Emery bit back. "No dogs."

The first and last dog Emery tried taking care of ended up dying in her arms, his throat slit and jagged, spilling blood into his fur, courteous of Riley. Should she mention to Dr. Chasseur that her sister had killed their only family pet? That it's barking, perpetual and resonating, caused her sister to snap and grab the closest Ka-Bar? Just thinking about it brought back images of Emery sobbing on the slick kitchen floor, holding the mutt until he stopped quivering in her gentle embrace. She had to bury him herself and clean up the pool of blood on the tiled floor. No, she couldn't tell Chasseur that. They'd take Riley away and send Emery to a boarding school, or some orphanage. That and the thing with the boy. What would you call that? Morphing? Going from human to animal wasn't something she'd consider a thing. But it was a thing. It _is_ a thing and that _thing _was still out there killing people. Emery shuddered. She needed to keep her responses short and to the point and then hurry home.

"Emery?" Chasseur's voice entered her head.

"Yes, sorry." Emery cleared her throat. "No dog. If this is an animal attack, why am I being questioned?"

Chasseur smiled, and asked, "Did you know Lisa Willoughby?"

"No, I did not." Emery retorted with steady eyes.

"It's part of protocol, Emery." Chasseur began. "Just making sure loose ends are tied. If there's something out there, I intend to find it."

* * *

><p>Despite Peter's reluctance, he now stood on the doorstep of Castle Godfrey. He had just finished wrapping his knuckles against the hardwood and now waited to be received.<p>

A few moments later, the door's latch clicked, and was drawn inward, revealing long black hair and a painfully beautiful face, dressed in a silken white gown.

"Yes?" Olivia Godfrey answered with palpable confusion. Her furrowed brow remarkably evident. What could a gypsy possible be doing at her doorstep? she probably thought.

"Is Roman here?" Peter as he slipped his hands into his jacket.

"May I ask who's calling?" asked Olivia.

"It's Peter." He practically mumbled.

Olivia didn't seem to understand who that was and why they were associating with her son. She told him Roman never mentioned a Peter at all. He claimed they had English together, and were working on an essay, a study group of the sort.

"Ahhh," Olivia mockingly realized. "Wuthering Heights, is it?"

Peter manage a nod, hands still shoved into the depths of his pockets.

"So, tell me: gypsy orphaned Healthcliff: Byronic hero or proto-marxist class warrior?"

_The fuck,_ Peter thought, _is she referring to?_

Not that Peter didn't like the occasional game, he did, it just seemed at the time there were more pressing matters. Peter replied, "I'm still on chapter one."

"Yes," Olivia muttered, giving him a once over. "I suppose you are." With long, delicate fingers she reached back and took hold of the door. "Well, Roman isn't home at the moment, but I will tell him you stopped by." She pondered a moment, "Uhh, Paul, was it?"

_Shit_, Peter grumbled, taking a glance back at the parked red Jaguar in the driveway. Last run in he had with Roman didn't end on the best note, but when things turned from bad to worse, for a gypsy at least, then it was time to pack up and move along. With the death of Lisa Willoughby and the rumor still claiming he's a werewolf, it'd be far too suspicious to just disappear, despite how badly he wanted to. He had to wait it out. Besides, maybe Roman was right. Maybe they needed to stop the _vargulf _together_._ For fuck's sake, they shared the same dreams. How fucking weird is that?

"It's Peter," he tried not to snap as he looked back to Olivia and her priggish smile.

"Well, nice to meet you, _Peter_." She turned to shut the door, but paused when something seized her attentions then she gave Peter one more fleeting glance of disgust before throwing the door wider, allowing Peter to see Roman just beyond the foyer. His arms were crossed about his chest and he was leaning against the frame of the entrance.

* * *

><p>"Yeah? Well maybe that's something you should be discussing with your <em>guidance counselor.<em>" Roman sneered as he turned and spun a pool ball around on it's orbit. Olivia had finally allowed Peter entrance into Castle Godfrey where Roman awaited him. Not uttering a word until they were far from earshot, the two teenagers meandered into a parlor to where they now discussed the most recent of events.

"Maybe I will." Peter retorted. First Olivia, now Roman. _Jesus Christ, these games!_

"What's the big deal?" Roman suddenly said just as Peter stood from the window sill. "That Wendell girl totally freaked out. They're not going to take her seriously."

"It's not just that," Peter replied. "It's the _other _girl."

"What other girl?" Roman looked confused.

"The one who, you know, the other girl." Peter didn't want to say it out loud.

Roman was drawing blank.

Peter stepped forward and lowered his voice to an impatient whisper, "The one who saw me change under the moon."

"Oh shit," Roman realized. "_That _girl. Fuck, I totally forgot about her."

"Yeah," Peter chided. "That girl."

"Well, what about her?"

"This...," Peter struggled to find the profession that Dr. Chasseur shared with him the moment they met. "This _special agent_, I think, of US Fish and Wildlife came to my home, said she was investigating the murder of Lisa Willoughby."

"And?" Roman responded.

"And she asked me if I was a werewolf…," Peter sighed. He threw his hands up with a defeated flop. "So there's that."

"So? What did you tell her?"

Peter cringed, "What the fuck do you think I told her? I said no!"

"Alright then. There you go. Problem solved." Roman replied as he tossed the pool ball between palms.

"No," Peter snapped. "Problem _not_ solved. All she needs is a scent. My people have been put away for many years for a lot less, Roman."

"What do you mean?"

"Nicolai." Peter murmured, sitting back on the edge of the window. "If she digs, she'll find out."

"Find out what?" Roman asked impatiently.

"Nicolai was a killer. He killed one of his own. This?" He gestured towards the spot just along the left side of his rib cage. "This means _garjo, "outsider"_. Nicolai stood outside all worlds and I stand next to Nicolai."

Roman shrugged.

"It's in my blood." Peter adjusted his shirt. "Blood stains."

"Who do you think this Chasseur really is?" Roman threw out.

"Doesn't matter!" Peter nearly yelled, "All that matters is not putting me in a cage. We need to find that girl, Roman. We need to find her and make sure she doesn't, or _hasn't_, told anyone what she saw that night."


	10. Chapter 10

When Emery made it home the place was still crawling with officials. Most congregated towards the back portion of the property, but that was given. She hurried across the lawn and lunged over the trio of steps. When she came through the front door, Riley was found seated along the couch, crying. Emery stilled at the entrance, eyeing the balls of tissue around her eldest sister. Apprehension, if anything, kept her from coming too close to Riley. Even though the itch to comfort Riley still beckoned like a moth to flame.

"Riley?" Emery cautiously conciliated. "Are you okay?"

The dish-water blonde carved in tattoos that concealed scars more than anything, glanced up. Her face, still youthful and pretty to the eyes, was blotchy and flushed. Around her nose was red from irritation. Her green eyes were swollen.

"Hey," Riley's voice croaked. "You're home."

Though Emery knew she meant well, for now, calling this shanty establishment a _home_ made her stomach churn. This was no home. Not for Emery, at least.

"I am," Emery placated. "Mind if I sit?" She eyed the spot to Riley's left. Her sister nodded as she sniffed and dabbed her nose. Carefully Emery steered herself across the small living room and plopped down next to Riley. She wasn't sure if she should drape an arm or offer a reassuring pat. Instead, she kept her hands to herself.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Emery asked gently.

Riley's lips disappeared into her mouth and her brow began to knit. Several tears escaped as she nodded.

After she sniffed, she replied. "I woke up this morning to a girl screaming." The tears began to fall liberally. "It startled me at first and then I got fucking pissed. I mean, my god, it's nine in the fucking morning. Why would anyone need to be screaming?" Emery took a moment to kneel down and pluck a fresh tissue from a box she spotted on the floor. She sat up and handed it to her sister.

"I put some clothes on and went outside." Riley blew her nose with the provided fresh tissue and continued. "I found this fucking _child_ out behind our house. She was on the ground, scrambling away from something and still fucking screaming. So I marched over there, thinking I was going to have to call someone's parents and then I saw the _other _girl." Riley's shoulders shook with a silent cry. "Half of her was gone," she breathlessly wailed.

Emery's brow had furrowed as she listened. "What do you mean half of her was gone?"

Riley waved a hand over her body. "It was all gone; missing. Like someone pulled her in half and left her there."

Emery grimaced and swallowed bitterly. "Did you call the police?"

Riley nodded. "I picked the girl up and brought her inside then called 911."

Emery sat back with a sigh. Well that was that. Half a girl was found behind her house and just a week ago she witnessed one being mauled first hand. Not to mention _him._ She felt the chills bristle along her shoulders and down her arms. A sickening dread began to sink into her stomach as she sat next to her distraught sibling. Could she tell Riley? Albeit, she didn't feel the urge to surrender the information. She hadn't for sometime, which was odd, she guessed. Were something to happen to her, she'd at least hoped someone shared her secret or had the barest clue to her disappearance, or God forbid, her murder.

Emery was chewing on her lip as Riley continued to sob softly. Finally, she reached up and passed her hand over Riley's back. She palmed it, noted the warmth, and then pressed against it with more resolve. Then she stroked, back and forth. Her movements were mechanical despite their attempt to assuage Riley, but she didn't seem to notice.

"You should get some sleep, Riley." Emery said. She stood then and gazed upon her sister. Riley was a wreck. Emery couldn't remember the last time Riley wasn't sleeping or screaming. Now she was falling to pieces in their living room, but not violent pieces, just a sad, wet, snot dripping mess.

Odd, Emery thought, as she wandered into her bedroom.

* * *

><p>Another night was creeping along and Emery still awake. She lay among her sheets, just staring into the stained ceiling, wondering things. Riley was passed out on the couch, leaving reruns of something obnoxious playing. Emery kept hearing the same closing theme over and over.<p>

Finally she got up and meandered into the living room. Sure enough her sister was stretched across the couch, fast asleep. Emery was reflective as she looked over Riley, she began to realize things were changing, for both of them. Riley hadn't a spell, even despite seeing a carcass just behind the house. Emery figured that was something soldiers were used to, seeing the raw stages of war causalities ; military and civilians alike. But then again, Hemlock Grove believed the killings were animal driven, not man, which Emery would agree. So maybe it was just as disturbing. Whatever it was, it scared off Riley's demons for the moment.

Emery ambled over to the couch, found the remote, and turned the TV off. She tossed it back onto the cushions and returned to her room to get dressed, but not before she retrieved Riley's Ka-bar on the end table.

The night was clear and cold when Emery snuck out of her window. She had pocketed the hunting knife for her trek. She had somewhere to be, where? she didn't exactly know. Her feet led her across the front yard, down the empty road and into town.

Seeing Hemlock Grove at night brought a different feel. It was quiet, less inquisitive, and not nearly as unnerving as when she took the sidewalks home after school. People stared, but she was used to it. Or was she? Most of Emery's batterings had healed, but it seemed when people gazed upon her, they were looking inside at all the scars and lashes she kept beneath her skin. It was more overwhelming than the superficial welts she sported when a stranger looked into her eyes and saw more than she intended. But now, as she walked through the sleeping town, she felt nothing but relief and the cold night's air.

Before she knew it, Emery was standing at the gate of Sacred Heart Cemetery. She was looking for the fresh mound and collection of faux flowers left to endure thunderstorms and frigid winters, but instead, she heard sounds, sounds that were natural to an empty cemetery.

As the lighter shades of shadows took definition, turning into tombstones and simpering angel statues, Emery realized she wasn't alone. What she could wasn't the sway and rustle of leaves, but whispers. She closed in on the soft conversation that seemed to emit from under the ground, a hole, even, and hunkered next to a World War II veteran and his wife's epitaph.

"They let me do it." one voice said. She scanned the darkness, hoping to spot their movements.

There. With her peripherals she caught the upward travel of slung dirt, another followed afterward, but further to the left. Emery twisted around until she peered over the top of the tombstone. She could see the tossed aside flowers and memorabilia that once adorned the fresh grave, now just obstructions to the culprit's current offense.

"Do what?" another responded.

"Cut off his head. Things happen to our kind after we die if you don't cut off the head." the first voice explained.

"So...what kind of things?" the other inquired after a moment of thought.

"Bad things."

Between the pants and small talk was the metal carvings against the dirt. They were digging, Emery realized in horror. They were digging up Lisa Willoughby, or Brooke Bluebell. Maybe even both and just hadn't gotten to her yet.

Emery clamped a cold hand over her mouth. She pressed harder into the cold tombstone large enough to conceal her from view and continued to listen. Where they trying to rob the poor girl? And if so, from what? She already lost her life and bottom half. What could she provide for them now?

"I've only been to two funerals." said one of two. "One was my dad, in '99. It's all pieces. I remember hearing the shot and going downstairs. The way Mom was sitting on the couch, the look on her face like she forgot why she'd walked into the room, you know. He was on the floor. It smelled like her favorite perfumed, he'd soaked himself in it. I remember thinking how much trouble he'd be in for wasting it."

The voice drifted into a whispered until more fragments of the memory returned.

"Who was the other funeral?" the other accomplice asked.

"Shelley's." he said.

If Emery wasn't fixated before, she certainly was now. Shelley who? Shelley Godfrey? Her Shelley?

_No_, Emery thought, _certainly not_. How many Shelleys were in Hemlock Grove ; Not that many. Besides, that would be suggesting these two were locals and not from out of town, Philly maybe. There were probably a lot more Shelleys there. A dull thunk resonated from the hole and across the calm cemetery and both diggers stopped. Emery flinched and hunkered low when she watched a figure stood, nearly emerging from the grave. He was shrouded in dark colored clothes and a beanie clutched his head. He laced his fingers and began pulling his palms above himself. Beneath him, still hidden in the hole, was the sound of groaning wood. It then made a splintering noise and Emery knew the other had opened the casket. The figure then disappeared back down and asked,

"What's your cousin going to do with that?"

In which the other replied, "What she can. No promises."

A headlight swept across Emery's back suddenly and then the sound of tires rolling against gravel reached her ears. She spun around in time to see a patrol car stop and park. The doors swung open. Acting quickly, Emery scrambled up and over the tombstone, revealing herself to the grave diggers but not the police. She flopped onto her back.

"What was that?" she heard them both say as she glanced towards the grave. Two heads popped up and spotted her.

"Someones here! Someones here! Someones here!" One sputtered frantically. They ducked back into the hole while Emery was pinned between two sick bastards and prying cops.

"Fuck," Emery hissed under her breath. If the cops found her and the empty grave, it wouldn't be good. "Fuck!" she whimpered again. She heard the car doors slam shut, but the lights didn't turn off. Alarms were going off in her head and she had to decide fast.

Stay put and try to evade the police, or take off running, which was more than likely what the diggers were about to do.

"That's her!" One hissed as he popped back up to look at her.

"What? Who?" The other replied perplexed.

The cops were closing in, but still enough paces away when she took a fleeting glance.

_Run!_ Her thoughts pleaded, but run where?!

Suddenly, one of the figures clambered out of the hole and crawled to her. A scream was starting to bubble in her throat as they honed it, but she squeeze a hand over her mouth. She stuck her other arm out, attempting to ward them off and soon she recognized the incomer as Roman. He snagged her around the collar by her hoodie and dragged her towards the grave.

"No!" She gasped, clawing at his gloved hands. They were standing now, hurrying away as the second man climbed out of the yawning hole, a satchel tossed over his shoulder. He gripped a shovel which he pushed into Emery's hold. She took it, now suddenly confused. Roman was still trying to get her to run.

The scruffy boy pressed his pointer finger against his lips, telling her to be quiet. He grabbed her shoulder and steered her quickly within stride.

_It's him_, she realized all at once. _The demon dog, the killer._

But before fear could seize her bones and take over, beams of light swept across the graveyard, reminding Emery that a lot more was at stake than just her life. If the cops spotted the three, she would burn with them, no matter what she plead as the truth. She was there at the scene of the crime, even if she had no direct correlation. Guilty by association. That would leave Riley alone to tend with her own demons. Emery would be sent to juvenile detention, or worse, back into foster care where even uglier things transpired, that's to say if she got out on good behavior. Emery recalled one family, a man and wife, who took turns molesting her. Albeit, there was never penile penetration, the wife had jealousy issues, other things were pushed inside of her. She swore secrecy on behalf of Riley, who had just turned seventeen and made it out of foster care and straight into Army boot camp. She made a promise to rescue Emery and take her in as her own.

Emery held onto theses words like they were the one thing that kept her heart beating. Words she chanted in her head, over and over, under all the hate, and tears, and welts provided. Emery was only ten, but she clutched to Riley's promise for what felt like a century.

Now she was running from the cops, chasing killers who disturbed graves and turned into wolves under new moons, but at least she was still alive. She had survived a lot, she realized.

She could survive this.


End file.
